Implications of One Plus One

 Sometimes we collide, tectonic plates merging, 
continents shoving, crumpling down into the molten 
veins of fire deep in the earth and raising 
tons of rock into jagged crests of Sierra.
Sometimes your hands drift on me, milkweed's airy silk, wingtip's feathery caresses, our lips grazing, a drift of desires gathering like fog over warm water, thickening to rain.
Sometimes we go to it heartily, digging, burrowing, grunting, tossing up covers like loose earth, nosing into the other's flesh with hot nozzles and wallowing there.
Sometimes we are kids making out, silly in the quilt, tickling the xylophone spine, blowing wet jokes, loud as a whole slumber party bouncing till the bed breaks.
I go round and round you sometimes, scouting, blundering, seeking a way in, the high boxwood maze I penetrate running lungs bursting toward the fountain of green fire at the heart.
Sometimes you open wide as cathedral doors and yank me inside.
Sometimes you slither into me like a snake into its burrow.
Sometimes you march in with a brass band.
Ten years of fitting our bodies together and still they sing wild songs in new keys.
It is more and less than love: timing, chemistry, magic and will and luck.
One plus one equal one, unknowable except in the moment, not convertible into words, not explicable or philosophically interesting.
But it is.
And it is.
And it is.

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